


A Star in Her Own Right

by Kittencatten



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: All The Tropes, F/F, F/M, I Don't Even Know, I Was Drunk When I Wrote This, Like, Multi, On Purpose, Other, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, What Have I Done, What Was I Thinking?, also, seriously bad, this was coauthored, this was written to be bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2019-01-15 13:13:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12321759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittencatten/pseuds/Kittencatten
Summary: You return to Hogwarts for your seventh year, but it's nothing like you expected.





	A Star in Her Own Right

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: (a) this was co-authored, but the other author does not use AO3, (b) this was written with the intention of being extremely bad, cringe, and trope-filled, and (c) please let me know if you find this entertaining whatsoever.

It had been over half a year since you had laid eyes on Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Last you had seen it, it had been in ruins, crumbling stones and bodies scattered everywhere. The image had been torturing your dreams and haunting your waking hours. They were engraved into your mind and, no matter what you tried, they could not be erased. There were dark circles under your eyes from lack of sleep and your skin had taken on a ghostly pallor. Your hair, once a rich (H/C) and luscious, had begun to thin.  
You walked along the corridor, keeping your head down, your hands clasped tightly around your Potions book. First Years eyed you with apprehension as one of the few survivors who had chosen to return to Hogwarts for their eighth and final year. There were only eight others in your Potions class: yourself, Luna Lovegood, Neville Longbottom, Ginny Weasley, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, and Cho Chang. All had been in the Battle of Hogwarts and all still bore the wretched scars.  
As you enter the classroom, you see that the others, minus Malfoy, have already arrived. Harry, Hermione, and Neville are clustered around an already steaming cauldron, lost in their own little world; Ginny, Cho, and Luna are at another table.  
Cho is choking back a sob as she shows Luna her wrist, the blank space where her Soulmate’s name was supposed to be tattooed. It had disappeared after the battle, as had yours. They stopped talking suddenly: they had noticed you listening. Ginny gives you a look and you duck your head, opening your Potions book.  
The class passes without incident. The Owl in the Middle of the Hallway hoots signaling the end of the period. You scuttle rapidly to collect your things and rush out of the room, not quite at a run, but somewhere near it. The others follow more slowly and the three girls resume their conversation.  
They’re not following you, but it certainly feels that way as you make your way out of the castle down towards the Great Lake. And you’re not listening to them (you aren’t, you really aren’t, like, seriously you are not.), but you still manage to hear them nevertheless. Luna is comforting Cho saying in her quite, melodious voice:  
“It’s alright, I don’t have a Soulmate either. Look,” she says, extending her pale arm for Cho and Ginny see. It was blank, just like Cho’s, just like your’s. “I’ve never had one,” says Luna, “and I don’t think I ever will.”  
You gasp at that, quickly covering your mouth with your hand. Fortunately, they don’t notice. Their voices fade into the distance as they continue towards Hogsmeade, probably to go to the new Starbucks: in hopes of improving muggle-pureblood relationships, the Ministry of Magic had brought the popular muggle franchise to the Wizarding world. Privately, you thought this wasn’t that bad of an idea. You would tolerate anything that could begin to reconcile the two peoples and make up for the many lives lost in the war, even if it was just a Starbucks.

 

It had been four days since you had learned the startling news of Luna’s deficiency, and you could focus on nothing else. Never before had Luna Lovegood been so present in your thoughts, but... there she was. So lost in your thoughts were you that you didn’t notice the captivating girl in question walking towards you. She too was engulfed in her own little world (but, hey, what’s new). Of course, you noticed none of that because of the aforementioned lost-in-your-mind-ness.  
The two of you collided in a most cataclysmic event: paper flew everywhere, books slammed against the floor, and inkwells shattered splattering the both of you with black Indian ink. There was a brief moment of silence as people began to realize what had happened. Then, chaos: people rushed to help Luna collect her things.  
You stood there for a moment before bending, slowly, to gather your things; your books had become mixed together and there was much scrambling to figure out who’s was who’s. Suddenly, a hand touched yours: it had been reaching towards the same Charms text that your’s had. You looked up, violet met the sparkling silvery-blue orbs of Luna Lovegood.  
You snatch your hand away clutching it to your chest. Hurt flashed across her face for an instant before it returned to its usual blissful kindness.  
“I think you dropped this,” she said, holding the book out towards you. You take it, slowly, and Luna smiles. I inhale sharply, my eye color changing from violet to deep crimson (she doesn’t notice, but even if she had, she wouldn’t have known what it meant).  
You stand together and walk the rest of the way to Charms, ink still staining your robes and books clutched a little less tightly than before. This time the silence between you and Luna is companionable, rather than awkward. Luna wasn’t all that bad, you decided, nor was she as strange as everyone said she was. Then you realised, just as you entered the classroom and Professor Flitwick asks you where the two of you had been, that you wanted to be friends with Luna. 

 

It had been three weeks since the disaster outside of Charms class and your friendship with Luna had blossomed. It exploded like a blooming rose in spring and you could not be happier. The two of you had begun studying together and going to Hogsmeade as a pear.  
On Saturday the twenty-first of November, another one of these little precious trips occurred, but this time, instead of going to the Three Broomsticks like usual, you were going to the Starbucks. It had snowed earlier than expected and a fine dusting of flakes lay like a soft blanket over the dirt road leading to the village. Your breath misted in front of you as you glanced over at Luna, little puffs of steam emerging intermittently from her mouth. The noonday sun framed her face as she looked over and met your staring, crimson eyes. She was divine, an angel from heaven above come to join you at a muggle coffee chain. Her eyes stared deep into yours; she was smiling, her face lit up and all of a sudden, somehow, she was brighter than the sun, a star in her own right.  
You shook your head and the moment was past, you had reached Starbucks. After standing in line for what seemed like an eternity (but an eternity with Luna wouldn’t be so bad, you thought), you finally ordered your drinks. Luna, like the little hipster she was, ordered a Strawberry Acai Refresher with one shot of coconut, trenta, despite the fact that it was rather cold outside. You, being only slightly more sensible, ordered a grande chai tea latte.  
When you got your drinks, they had gotten your order right, but spelled your name horribly wrong. You sighed, somethings in the wizarding world were just the same as the muggle one. Luna chose where you sat--by the window looking out onto the busy main street as snow settled down only to be trampled by passers by.  
You sipped thoughtfully at your chai tea latte as you watched Luna who was looking out the window. She held the straw between her thin, pale, pink lips and, ever so often, she would chew on the end, until it was mangled beyond recognition and you wondered how she could get any liquid through it. There you sat in comfortable silence for ten minutes before you spoke.  
Setting your half empty cup on the table you said, “Luna, I’ve been thinking, there’s this party some sixth years are throwing next week and, well, it’s sort of a formal dance thing and, ah, I was, ah, wondering if maybe you wanted to go with me? As a date?”  
Slowly, very slowly, Luna tentatively took her mouth off the straw. Then she sat looking at you for a moment. It was a very long moment. Just as you were about to apologize for even asking, but then she said one simple word that would change your life: “Yes.”

 

Luna was wearing a new dress of the palest pink. It hung loose and flowing around her thin torso, draping itself elegantly over the swell of her breasts. Her hair was piled atop her head in an intricate series of braids interwoven with wildflowers. She looked like a woodland nymph who spent her days caring for the animals of the forest and her nights nestled in a bed of grass and the most delicate of vines. There had never been a more beautiful creature, you decided, and your breath caught in your throat as the light of the candles hung in the corridor shone on her hair.  
You, on the other hand, looked like shite (not actually, but compared to Luna you might as well). However, Luna seemed not to care as she took your arm and led you to the rooms where the dance was being held.  
There were tables set up against the walls draped with black and white clothes, enchanted candles hovering above them. Some were already filled with crying girls whose dates had stood them up before they even arrived. The sixth-year hosts had hired a band who were currently playing what sounded like a combination of Justin Bieber and an obscure wizarding group--it was bizarre to say the least.  
Instead of dancing, you sat down at one of the little tables. Luna waved her wand and two glasses of a mysterious amber liquid appeared before you. “They’re Acid Rains,” she said. You rolled your eyes at this--Acid Rain was just a fancy way of saying ‘gin and tonic’. You sat there like that, sipping your drinks, in companionable silence, legs brushing, for a number of minutes. Occasionally, you would feel the cool scratch of Luna’s dainty golden anklet, which you had glimpsed when she’d sat down.  
Suddenly, Luna jumps up and, grabbing your hand, drags you to the dance floor. “THIS IS MY FAVORITE SONG!” she yells over the pounding bass. You do your best to match Luna’s enthusiasm, but the press of sweaty bodies against your own makes you want to vomit. People step on your feet and hands rip at your clothes...you want to leave, but leaving now would mean abandoning Luna. So you didn’t and instead weave your way over to where she was standing, bouncing up and down to the beat of the song.  
Just as you grab her hand, there is a loud crash and a blinding flash of red light, then silence. The band had stopped playing, tables were knocked over, and smoke from the rapidly extinguished candles filled the air eerily framing the figure standing in the doorway. You couldn’t see who it was, but students near the door had begun to rush to the sides of the dance floor. Eventually, there was only you and Luna left. The figure stepped forward, wand still raised, into the light and you saw that it was none other than...Neville Longbottom?  
What was Neville doing here like this? “What? Neville--” you begin to say, but he motions for you to stay quiet as he stalks forward to stand in front of Luna.  
“If I can’t have you,” he whispers, “then no one can. Avada Kedavra!” There is a flash of green light and Luna’s body falls, lifeless before it ever hit the ground. You screamed, running towards her as someone else tackled Neville to the ground.  
You could see glimpses of the person punching Neville, magic all but forgotten in their rage. However, you had eyes only for Luna. Beautiful, wondrous Luna whose silvery-blue eyes where still open, staring unseeingly at the sky. Choking back a sob, you pass your hand over them, closing them forever.  
There is a scream from behind you, momentarily startling you from your grief-filled haze. It was coming from the mouth of Cho Chang who had her hands clasped, vice-like, around Neville’s neck. You had never seen her like this before, eyes filled with pure sadness and rage at the death of her friend.

You turned to watch as Cho shoved battery acid down Neville’s throat and he began to choke. She stood and watched as he clutched at his neck, trying in vain to force the acid from his esophagus. Slowly, you watched the light drain from his eyes and his horrible life ended once and for all. You looked back at Luna’s body lying on the ground and began to cry.

 

One week later.

It was raining and you couldn’t help but think that Luna would not have wanted to be buried on a rainy day. She deserved sunlight and flowers and warmth, but all she got was precipitation. Hundreds of people had come to the funeral; only a couple stayed to see her casket lowered into the grave, dirt scattered over its mahogany lid. Luna’s father had thrown the first lily into the grave, followed by Harry, Ron, and Hermione, and, finally, yourself. By then, everyone was crying, some louder than others.  
Slowly, very slowly, people began to wander away until it was only you who remained. Reaching inside your cloak, you pulled out a delicate mother of pearl cameo pin that you had intended to give to Luna after the party as a sort of thank you gift. But, of course, that had never happened. Kneeling down, you placed it gently atop the mound of dirt now covering her, next to a bunch of dandelions someone else had brought.  
Crying, you reached out your hand to trace the words etched into the stone:  
Luna Lovegood.  
13 February 1981- 27 April 1999  
“A star in her own right.”


End file.
